Just A Few Mistakes
by Kusabiishi
Summary: Sync wasn't used to getting caught, nor was he used to making so many mistakes in one day. He especially wasn't used to enjoying them. Luke/Sync.


**A/N:** Yay for random, not-very-well-written fan-fiction about unloved couples! Huzzah! Sync's probably not very in character and I probably should rewrite this when I've gotten back into the habit of writing drunk people; it's painfully obvious that I don't drink and haven't read or written about drunkards much lately. Damn me.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Tales of the Abyss, obviously. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan-fiction for it. At least... I certainly hope I wouldn't...**  
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**Just A Few Mistakes**

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Sync the Tempest honestly had no idea how he, of all people, had ended up in this position. He blamed his inability to stop all this idiotic _thinking_ he'd caught himself doing- all this doubting he had taken to. That, the green-haired replica thought, was why he currently found himself pressed up against a wall with two rather large hands at either side of his head. To say he was ashamed that he'd been caught by none other than that defective, idiot replica of Luke fon Fabre would be an understatement.

It was even worse when you considered the fact that he was not quite _sober_ after having his first drink- or what Sync _imagined_ was his first drink.

Being in the God-Generals as he was, he was unaccustomed to coming in close contact with such drunken idiots. Usually, he kept his distance, but there was but one hallway in this tiny little inn—one little tiny inn hallway that Sync had made the mistake of standing around in.

Now here he was with his back against the wall, staring up at the redheaded replica with a pair of green eyes that were obscured by the shadows that his mask created.

The redhead didn't seem to be there at all. There was a dumber look on his face than there usually was and Sync recognized that as a bad thing. Perhaps tomorrow when he had to fight against them it would be a good thing, but for now, it was a bad thing.

Luke was staring him down as if he were a fucking _piece of meat_. While Sync had referred to himself as such on more than one occasion, he didn't think the two were using the same definition of the term.

And, of course, he made another mistake: He didn't moved. The other male had closed in on him the moment he'd noticed him eyeing every potential exit he had. He certainly had too few options for him to be fond of this chance that he'd somehow acquired. After all, he could easily kill this idiot right here and now, but whatever he did, he had to avoid alerting the others in the inn of his presence. Considering the inn was connected to the tavern, it wasn't an unfounded idea that there might be a few patrons stumbling through the halls, but it was easy to tell the difference between a fight and a drunk stumbling around the hallways.

His immobility proved to be seen as positive feedback, as a sheepish grin began to spread across the idiot's face.

Sync twitched, an action that was repeated when the idiot advanced—one of his large hands coming over to his chin, cupping it and tilting his head back.. Sync couldn't help but blush furiously at the very _idea_ of locking lips with his enemy and rammed his fist into the other's gut.

The moment he had freed himself from Luke's grasp, he _moved_; he darted to the right in hopes of reaching the room that was designated to be his for the night, but wasn't even a few feet away from it when something—some_one_—collided with him, pulling him down. He hissed loudly when he was reduced to a spot on the floor. This _was_ an interesting way to kill one's enemies, he supposed. Jump them and surprise them, try to get intimate, then lay on them when they attempt to escape and crush their lungs.

He tried to cry out in frustration. What came out sounded like he was struggling to breath. In a way, he was.

But Sync the Tempest was not happy.

And suddenly, the weight was alleviated. Then nothing. No roaming hands, no trying to jerk his head in the other direction to kiss him... Nothing.

He contemplated jumping up and making a dash for it.

But that seemed like a bad idea. He could _feel_ that Luke was still hovering right over him; he could _hear_ him _breathing_. The moment he gave the slightest inclination of movement, the redhead would be upon him again, putting a stop to him running off.

So he made another mistake.

He turned his head.

And there was the little bastard, staring him down and… "Ion?" the redhead questioned curiously. Sync blinked and for the first time, he noticed his mask was gone. He brought his hand up, touching it to where his bird-like mask would _usually_ be, but found nothing. Where had it fallen off? _When_ had it fallen off? He couldn't help but curse, looking away from the green-eyed male, hoping that in doing so, Luke might forget what his face looks like.

It would not be good if this group knew what his face looked like.

Or, rather, he simply didn't want them to know.

After all, he could imagine the idiocy that the "Fon Master" Ion would spout upon learning what he was. Sync had a feeling that there would be a load of bullshit about how they were the "same". That kid could only be described as naïve—perhaps thoughtless, even. Though Sync hated him for being the replica that _wasn't _thrown away, he did not want to be him.

That was the last thing he wanted.

"Ion?" Luke continued, probably wondering why there'd been no response. He had to think seriously about what he said. Going along with it was always an option, but pulling it off didn't sound worth the effort.

"I am _not_ Ion!" Sync yelled after a moment, though his hand didn't move away from his face, nor did he dare to look back at the male. But Luke didn't reply. There was not a sound coming from him—not a peep.

Usually, it was quite the opposite.

He made another mistake—he seemed to be doing that a lot today. Again, he turned his head, one of his green eyes taking a peek at the redhead. And there was that damned sheepish grin again, smiling down at him. He twitched. Obviously, Luke was convinced that he was Ion.

That was comforting.

And then, with a sudden burst of speed that Sync hadn't even known Luke was capable of, he found his hand pried away from covering his face. In doing so, the green-haired replica's knee shot up, catching the male's stomach. The hold on his hand loosened slightly as Luke gasped out, as anyone would've. Luckily for Luke, he'd missed his mark.

And then he made a move to make his getaway, jerking his hand from Luke's grasp, knocking Luke off of him and…

Suffice to say, he didn't get very far at all.

Arms wrapped around him and once again, he was subdued. Sync cursed. This idiot really wasn't going to give up, was he? The green-haired replica was just _itching_ to get out of this situation. He didn't like it; it was unnerving and uncomfortable and threatened to make him ill.

He stiffened when he felt lips touch his neck, squirming at the odd sensation of his enemy _kissing_ his _neck_. These sorts of affairs were unnatural—unsightly. But now that he thought about, he could see the appeal. Having someone's lips grazing against the skin on his neck was something he was unfamiliar with; it produced a squeak and a blush and a string of high-pitched, whispered curses.

And for Luke, it produced a chuckle.

With Luke's lips planted on his neck, mowing a path up to his ear, Sync had no idea how to react. He wanted to hit him, of course. He calls him—him! Sync the Tempest!—Ion, then starts kissing his neck. At the same time that he wanted to hit him, he _didn't_ want to hit him.

Did that make any sense?

A noise he didn't recognize came for him. It took him a second to realize that he had whimpered. Here was the mighty Sync the Tempest, reduced to a whimpering, flustered mess at this _one_ action. There were no roaming hands; there was no _toying_ with him—there was just the feverish kisses and nips of the replica of Luke fon Fabre.

And what pissed him off most of all was that he liked it.

He _liked_ it.

This was a mistake.

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**A/N: **I don't understand why these two are such an under loved couple. Seriously. I think they would get along just great. Luke lacks confidence, of which Sync has in abundance. Sync lacks lots of things, most of which Luke has in... some kind of amount.


End file.
